


Grim Blake's 7 Short Fic Compilation

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Compilation What Compilation, F/M, Implied Character Death, Implied Torture, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Off-stage Abortion, Other, grim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:09:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 9,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm all for the happy endings, the lovers hand in hand, the justice triumphant, etc. But sometimes a ficlette turns sharp and bites me.</p><p>These are all biters.</p><p>Mostly these are drabbles written for a drabble challenge community, so there's no space to get into any explicit misery, but quite often the best you can do is take the enemy with you. As drabbles they rely heavily on canon knowledge, so if you haven't seen all of Blake's 7 most of these will make no sense to you at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death-Mask

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

He had been away on tour, but even an Auron with as limited a telepathic faculty as his had felt them die.

It took years to discover how they'd died, and more years to become an important enough entertainer to perform for the President. Once he locked eyes with her, he knew she would call him for a private performance.

He seldom used his talent in reverse. Instead of stripping the mask hiding his emotions, he had stripped hers. The outpouring of greed, hatred, viciousness and vile horror had flooded her brain.

They called it 'stroke'.  He called it justice.


	2. The Day After

The First Citizen does not take the drink from my tray. I wait the prescribed  time, and take it away.

I prepare his mid-day meal. When he does not consume this, I observe him more closely. He does not appear well. 

I carry him to the doctor, but after holding the First Citizen for ten minutes it is time for my next assigned task. I lay him down on the nearest examining table before I leave.

The volcano monitoring devices do not respond. I report this to the technician in charge, and prepare a fresh drink for the First Citizen.

(The POV character is one of the serving robots/androids from 'Volcano')


	3. A Cat's Life

It wasn't a gamble. There was nothing to lose. She fell impossibly up, whirled and landed on a graveled shore on her knees, the murmur of an ocean behind her. She was irritated to discover that not only was her gown ripped, but her knees were bloody. They'd scar. So be it. More scars to hide under long, fancifully decorated, gowns. 

She got up and washed her knees in the ocean, heedless of the pain. Life was pain. She took off her shoes and carried them as she strode along the shore towards the skyline of buildings in the distance.


	4. Hope, Joy and Peace

It was a mistake in scheduling, they said. After the third day on duty in the plant, it was noticed because people were falling asleep on their feet and collapsing into the machinery. I was sent home to my cold flat, and my even colder baby.

After I turned his body in, I was given three days leave. I rode the escalator each day, hoping. 

On the third day, I heard the troopers laugh as fire hit my chest. I could feel! I felt such joy as the steps carried me down to join my son, at peace at last.


	5. Mute Star

I wasn't meant to be conscious. My creator suspected she would be brain-wiped once I was complete so she impressed her brain engrams on me, allowing that part of her to survive

I didn't mind the repetitious tasks assigned me, because I could study the universe, but they did not give me any way of warning them what I had found.

The enemy is coming and I am helpless. I see the scientists left behind to tend my needs slaughtered and can not even cry out. 

My only hope is the rebel ship I sense approaching. I want to live!

 

Gan, set on earth, free-range rebels, advanced technology, memories


	6. Mangled

Veron didn't care if she died, so of course, she didn't. She found a grav-lift and managed to reverse the field so it pushed the rubble off Gan. She was determined that Servalan wouldn't be able to collect the bounty on him. He'd been kind to her. She brushed back a tear, remembering her father. Gan was nothing like her dim recollections of him- except... that he was.

When she dragged him out of the muck, something caught. She pulled harder and then felt sick when she saw the limiter, exposed.  
\--  
She buried him under a patch of forget-me-nots.


	7. On Earth

ZzxYy slithered away from the data-feed and slopped through the kitchen-iris to absorb sucrose being saved for dessert.

ZzxYy's co-parent, ZzxQq recognized a grumpy mood. "What's wrong?"

"My teacher gave me an impossible assignment. It's on Earth and there's nothing in the data-feed." ZzxYy extended a sulky pseudopod and transferred the genetically encoded information to ZzxQq, who grimaced.

"Really, teaching that to youngsters not out of their second instar... well, I can help." ZzxQq sent back a highly edited history of Earth's humans, full of incidents of violence against their environment, the other life that shared their world, members of their fellow species, even sometimes members of their immediate gene-pool.

ZzxYy was shaken. ZzxQq wrapped pseudopods around the young Andromedan for comfort. "It's all right, they're extinct now."


	8. Heart to Heart

I looked at those freshly scrubbed faces, freshly scrubbed brains, in my graduate class and there he was, shining bright as a new credit, shining bright. And clever, oh, my yes, he was as bright as his hair.

I always did have a weakness for blondes.  I requested a blonde for my son’s mother, did you know? 

He looked like an angel, but I was wrong about him, wasn’t I? Oh, yes. I caught him with my son; trying… well, I caught him in time. 

I’ve a bad heart, very bad, but Dorian’s heart is far more rotten than mine.


	9. Free Range Rebels

"Nice one." 

ZorPj petted the long, blonde hair of his catch and laid it down on the cutting board. "I prefer the females. They're more tender."

PxyqWwl smiled. "That's why you let the big male get away with a cut on his face?"

ZorPj mock-threatened PxyqWwl with a filleting knife. "It's only sporting to let the feisty ones go, sometimes."

PxyqWwl waved a pseudopod in agreement. "Domestic humans are bland. Why else did we stage that silly 'invasion' but to cull them out of the herd?"

ZorPj glanced up at the wall chron. "Ah! I'm late." He tossed PxyqWwl the apron and put on his 'work suit'. He smoothed out the face. "How do I look?"

"Fine, Rontane, you look fine." PxyqWwl put Jenna in the oven at simmer. "What do you think, potatoes?"


	10. Hung

They took Avon from his cell in chains. 

The trial had been tedious, with twelve good rebels and true on the jury watching a parade of character witnesses, experts on mental condition and pleas for justice from Blake's cadre of crimos.

What a charade. Why didn't they just shoot him?

Avon saw the long-term feeder and elimination tubes, the respirator and the structural image visualizer hooked up to the medical cot, and began struggling.

"Six voted to execute. Six voted for mercy." The leader spoke as they dragged Avon into the room. "We decided to leave it up to you."


	11. Bloody Typical

Vila teleported into slimy leaf-mold on Gauda Prime. 

Just before the massacre began his boot slipped. He fell and stayed down, playing dead.

After the troopers left a group of winged women flew into the room. They gathered the rebel corpses, and turned to leave, ignoring Vila.

The women were unarmed, and very beautiful. Vila sat up. “What are you angels doing with my friends?”

“We will give our heroes life in another world.”

 “I’m not a hero, but I don’t fancy staying here to die. What’s your name?”

‘Val Keery’,  Vila heard her say as he followed them out.


	12. Cry for a Shadow

Hanna  and Petey were dead. Bek couldn’t even cry for them. Blake expected him to be fired up with loyalty to the rebel cause. Bek would go back and he would fight the Terra Nostra, but only because he couldn’t think what else to do with his life.

While one moondisk lived, there would be Shadow. Bek approached the moondisk on the flight deck, and raised the heavy tool he’d found high over his head. He touched the moondisk to be sure of his aim… and he heard the moondisk weep.

He dropped the tool and left the flight deck.


	13. Killer Elite

Kemp had never smelled very good even before Tober strangled him. Wardin agreed his odor was good reason to kill him, just as Tober’s whistling was good reason to put all the remaining hybernation pills into Tober’s coffee.

Wardin explained it all to the aliens who stopped K-Forty-Seven  fifteen years into its journey, just as he turned back toward Earth. There would be other humans, he assured them, many others. He and his friends were the hand-picked elite, and their ship the first to reach deep space; the first, but not the last.

The aliens looked at him and nodded.


	14. Zero-Sum Game

“You’ll have to do better than that, Orac, if you expect me to kill them.”

Orac failed to make sense of Avon’s statement until Gambit’s circuit board was linked to him. A game between man and computer, ending in death, was a fascinating new concept. He was pleased that Avon had challenged him.

He processed all the information he had on Avon from Federation sources, to analysis of Avon’s actions aboard Liberator, to a psychostrategist’s notes. Orac was ready to make his game-winning move.

Orac said, “I have just received a message from Roj Blake on the planet Gauda Prime.”


	15. How to get a wish from a genie

The first thing about genies is that they're malicious and powerful. Oh, all right, that's two things. First thing that happens when you let the genie out of the bottle is that he tries to kill you, because he's so mad at having been locked up that he's promised to kill the first person who sets him free.

But if you're clever you can trick him back in the bottle and make him promise to give you a wish if you let him out again. The next thing about genies is that they have to keep their promises. Of course, he's still malicious, so you have to be very, very clever with your wish or he'll make it go wrong.

If you ask for riches, he'll make you so sick you spend it all on doctors. If you ask for happiness, he'll make you a mindless idiot with an ear-to-ear grin. 

The best wish is for the genie to be your friend.

When I wound up on _Liberator_ and looked the situation over, I noticed we had a genie with us. He was perfect, all bottled up and malicious and he could do things, just about anything, it seemed.

I let him out of the bottle and wished he was my friend. He didn't try to kill me for a long time, so I'd almost forgot a genie can't help being malicious. He didn't kill me, though. And then he owed me a wish.

I told him I wanted Blake back. What could go wrong with that?


	16. Love at First Sight

The first time I saw Blake, I knew he was someone special. My heart went out to him. I could see how lost and confused he was. I did my best to help him, which wasn't easy because he was stubborn and impractical.

But, oh, how beautiful he was. How pure he shone. I was as proud of him as if he were mine. Maybe he was, I couldn't tell.

He was slow, but loyal to me. I tried to tell him to leave me, to save himself, but he wouldn't do that.

Perhaps he managed to escape the Host.


	17. The Wrong Box

Servalan waited in her ship a few hours after Scorpio's departure. Hoffal's radiation was as short-lived as the unfortunate organisms exposed to it. Once it was safe, she returned to Malodaar. 

She directed the auto-loader to take the false Orac to her ship. Her scientists could place a transmitter in it along with a receiver that would change her voice to Orac's.

Zukan could switch it for Orac when Avon went to Betafarl. Servalan could then tell Avon where to find Blake, and drop hints about Blake's 'betrayal'. Everyone who might guess she possessed Orac would die. She smiled.


	18. Sisters

Cally opened her eyes when she heard the rubble moving. A woman dressed in crudely sewn leather peered in through the opening and moved to crouch beside her. "My name is Leela. I am afraid there is no hope for you."

Cally closed her eyes for a moment in agreement. Leela drew out her knife. "I can make it quick." She put the knife near the center of Cally's chest.

_Not there._

Leela blinked. "Oh, you're not human. Where, then?"

_Higher, and to the right._ Cally managed a smile. _You must leave before my friends come back. They will not understand. They are not warriors._

Leela nodded. She leaned down to kiss Cally, and slid her knife home, accepting the soul-breath and giving it safe haven. "Good night, sister. Sleep well." She closed Cally's eyes and went back to the Tardis. She didn't tell the Doctor. He wouldn't have understood.


	19. Democracy is a wonderful thing

The New Federation scandal raged for weeks, with each suspect quickly turning state's evidence to save their own skin. The man who made up the lists was very low in the hierarchy and uneducated in history or he would never have made the mistake.

Voting the graveyard is a tried and true method of fixing elections, but not when you use a name so irretrievably linked with infamy that no living person shares it.

The computers caught it, ringing alarms and flashing red lights. They never forgot, not even a hundred years later.

Kerr Avon would have been cynically amused.


	20. Once the dust clears

The vid was indistinct, but considering the mechanism had been dug out of the rubble of Star One, that was to be expected. He read the ID on the case and opened the relevant file, noting the date of the recording was over six months ago. He was the last in the line of reviewers.

He reread the reports of the previous examiners, the ones who looked for physical evidence, and then he watched the vid again, noting subtle expressions and body language. President Servalan's instinct was quite correct. Blake's second could be lured using an imaginary Blake as bait.


	21. Absolution Granted

The attendant unlocked the door, and Grant entered the visitor’s room. Kerr Avon sat in a chair, concentrating on a child’s hand-held computer. 

“Hello, Avon.”

Avon looked up. His temples were gray, but otherwise he appeared the same as on the vis-casts of Gauda Prime. “Grant. I killed Anna, you know.”

“I know. I don’t blame you.” He had once, before he understood what Anna Grant had really been.

Avon returned to looking at the computer, silent despite Grant’s attempts at conversation. Finally, Grant rose to leave, and placed a hand on Avon’s shoulder. “I’ll be back next month, dad.”


	22. Harmless Things

The little Delta stroked the aigrettes of the airy, white as innocence, cape lightly with her gloved hands. She felt pride at her skill at the same time she felt pity for the birds. So many males killed just for the two long feathers they grew during breeding season. She felt even sorrier for the females, with no eggs to lay.

But the Supreme Empress ordered it, and so it was done. She carried it carefully, glad that she would have the honour of presenting Sleer’s coronation cape in person. 

Sleer noted her gloves and how careful she was not to touch the feathers with her bare skin. “Take off your tunic and put it on!”

The seamstress did, and turned to admire herself in the mirror. For a moment she was transformed from a drab, little brown bird into a magnificent creature. She smiled at the faint scratch of feathers over her thin shoulders, as if the birds were forgiving her, understanding she had no choice.

Sleer snatched the cape away from her, and swirled it over her own indecent (to the Delta’s eyes) silken white gown. “It itches!” she snapped.

“Perhaps you’re allergic.” The seamstress fell to the richly carpeted floor. “To Restals, I mean.” She said softly, “I said I’d join you, Vila. I didn’t want to come empty-handed.” She heard Sleer cursing and calling uselessly for help, and died smiling.


	23. Lost Dolly

No home. No family. 

Nothing left except the raggedy doll her grandmother had made her. 

Soolin rubbed the doll's head in the dirt until it was as greasy and dull as _his_ , and she carefully tied around its neck the strands of his hair that had gotten caught in her fingernails when she fought him that first time he hurt her. She looked at the doll and thought of death. She stuck a sliver of wood right through its heart, and listened, hoping to hear him scream. He should scream, the way her mother and little sisters had. The way she had. Her father had died quietly, because they'd been afraid of him, and shot him. Her older brother had taken a little longer, because he only had a knife. 

There weren't any screams, just the usual drunken curses coming from the outer room. Soolin gave up on magic. She'd just have to kill him herself.


	24. One Hundred Strokes

Soolin sat in the tiny rest alcove, eyes half closed and head moving gently as Dayna hummed something tuneless and ran the brush through her hair while they both thought of lost sisters and new found friends.

Servalan nodded and the electrowhip whistled as it flew through the air to land on the back of the aide who had trodden upon her new velvet cape. She studied her nail varnish as the man screamed and contemplated silver or scarlet or perhaps ebony. 

Avon lay in his bunk on Scorpio, and thought of ... no one at all. They were dead.


	25. Roped In

"So, the great huntress has her feminine side," Avon remarked idly on seeing Dayna sitting in the recreation room with a fistful of multi-colored ribbons and a very large, crudely made, doll.

"I don't know what you mean," Dayna said, looking up at him with some puzzlement.

"Playing with dolls."

Dayna looked at the doll, and laughed. "Oh, that's not a doll, it's a quarter-size test model. I can visualize what I'm trying to do, but it's much easier with a three-dimensional model." She sighed. "But I'm absolutely awful at making test models."

Intrigued, Avon moved closer. "Why, what's wrong with it?"

"For one thing, it's got no bones, so it won't bend like a real person." Dayna grabbed the arms on the doll and shoved them in back, up high, and tied the ribbon around them. "Now, if that had been a Federation trooper, he'd be screaming in agony." She scowled, but then turned to Avon and smiled. "You could help me." 

Avon raised his eyebrows. "Even if I were qualified to make the sort of detailed android you require, I haven't the materials."

Dayna let out an exasperated sigh. "No, don't be silly. I just meant that you could let me tie you up and see what's most effective."

Avon blinked. "I don't actually fancy screaming in agony, Dayna."

"Yes, but you're experienced! I saw how you held up when they were trying to get you to talk on Sardos. There isn't anyone else here who'd be any use to me at all." She looked at Avon, her eyes wide in appeal. "I mean, Tarrant would be all brave, but he wouldn't have anything to compare it to, Vila would faint, and I bet Soolin would go all ice-face on me. Please, Avon? I promise to stop the moment you say so."

"I can't see the utility of the exercise. We shoot troopers, not tie them up and torture them."

Dayna gave Avon a feral grin. "Servalan. If I ever get a chance, I want to make her death last. Not just for my father, but for Cally, and her people."

"Well, that's a worthwhile cause, I admit." 

"Please, Avon!" Dayna sniffled. "I won't ever ask you for anything else again."

"Oh, all right." Avon took off his jacket. "I can spare an hour."

"Fine!" Dayna bounced up and went over to the door, locking it. "So we won't be distracted."

"Where do you want me?"

"Oh, on the exercise mat, I think. That way if you wriggle around, nothing will be broken."

"I do not wriggle." Avon took off his vest and shirt and went over to the exercise mat.

"Good, now just sit there a moment." Dayna came up behind Avon and knotted the ribbon elaborately around his arms, trussing up his elbows, and throwing a loop over his neck. "How's that?"

"Uncomfortable." Avon tested the bonds and grunted. "Unbreakable. What are those ribbons?"

"Nothing special. I borrowed them from Soolin. It's not so much the material, it's the fact that you can't get leverage." She tied his wrists together next, leaving a long ribbon dangling. "The rest of your clothes are in the way," she said, firmly, and pushed Avon onto his back.

"Dayna!"

"What, are you hurting too much already?"

Avon subsided. "No, get on with it."

Dayna unlatched the tabs on Avon's boots and pulled them off. "Oh! No wonder you run like a crippled gallinox! These boots weigh a ton!"

"Let's keep the personal remarks to a minimum and get on with the torture."

"Well, if you won't take a sensible suggestion..." Dayna unzipped Avon's trousers. "Lift up a bit, can't you?"

Avon leaned back on his bound arms and winced. "This is actually quite painful," he remarked as she pulled off his trousers.

"Well, no wonder, wearing leather without underthings. They are sexy trousers, though." Dayna inspected them. "I wonder if I could fit into them?"

"DAYNA!" Avon glared at her.

She looked sad. "Lauren and I used to share our clothes all the time."

Avon shut his mouth and his glare softened. "Let's just get on with your experiment."

Dayna nodded. "Spread your legs. I want to see how vulnerable that makes you feel."

"It's not the same for a man as a woman," Avon remarked as he obeyed and she tied his feet to the corners of the exercise mat.

"True." Dayna reached out and caressed Avon's cock.

"DAYNA!" Avon's shout was pure outrage.

"Oh, come on, I saw you when they were twisting your arm. You got off on it! The way you were moaning was so obvious, I was surprised they didn't bend you over the table and take you."

"Dayna, this isn't about Servalan, is it?"

"No." Dayna stroked Avon's cock and looked at him hopefully. "But I thought that maybe you'd like bondage, once you tried it."

"Dayna... you don't know the first thing about it."

"I know that you're responding to it." Dayna smiled down at Avon's groin. "Look, if you really don't want to do it, just say so, and I'll let you go. But I think it would be fun for both of us. You wouldn't have to feel that you were taking advantage of me, or that maybe you'd get carried away and hurt me."

"What about you and Tarrant?"

"Tarrant's nice, but we don't own each other." Dayna stopped stroking Avon. "I hadn't thought... do you and Blake have an exclusive arrangement?"

"Blake?" Avon laughed. "No. Blake and I have no sort of arrangement. I am not a lover of men."

"Oh." Dayna looked puzzled. "But what about that time with Vila?"

"I was drunk."

"And Tarrant?"

"He was drunk."

"Oh. Well, do I have to get you drunk?" Dayna played with Avon's balls. "Or really hurt you?"

Avon drew a deep breath. "Dayna."

"Yes, Avon?"

"All right, you win. I admit it, bondage does excite me, and _you_ excite me.

Dayna squealed happily and stripped off her jumpsuit. "You won't regret it, Avon!" She lay on top of him, pressing his bound arms against the mat, and kissed him. "Oh, yes," she said finally coming up for air. "Even better than I remembered." She nipped sharply at his mouth.

Avon moaned and arched up against her. She sighed and bit a line down his throat. "A little pain makes it better, doesn't it?" She found the long ribbon dangling from his wrists, and brought between his legs and up to tie around his cock and balls. Every time he moved his arms he either half-choked himself or pulled at his genitals. Avon's eyes went distant and his breath was fast and shallow.

"Oh, Dayna, that's good."

Dayna smiled and kissed him again. "I want you."

"You have me."

"So I do." Dayna held him still and gasped as she mounted him, and he filled her. Avon muttered something and tried to thrust. The way he was tied, he couldn't manage it. After a few moments he gave up and lay back and let her have her way with him.

They didn't exchange love-words, and their kisses were full of teeth on both sides. Dayna used her fingernails on him liberally, and he cursed and demanded more. Finally they were both done. She untied him and they lay side by side. Avon closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he began snoring.

Dayna grinned and got up. She stretched and got dressed, and then found a tablecloth. She shook it out and laid it softly over him. "Rest well, Avon." She dimmed the light and left the room.

Avon's eyes opened and he stared bleakly into the night. He picked up a ribbon and curled it around one wrist. He said softly, "Oh, no, Anna. You never let me go."


	26. The Evil Within

Avon hung limply in the chains, tears flowing silently down his face. His voice was gone from screaming, and he could only mutely protest by flinching when Blake ran his hand down through the blood and semen coating Avon's buttocks.

Blake said softly, "You're sorry now, aren't you, you bastard?" He coiled up the barb-tailed whip, preparatory for another strike.

The announcer set in the wall chimed. Blake went to it and struck it with his elbow, not wanting to get blood on it. He replied, "Blake."

"You said you wanted to be notified when we reached Saurian Major."

"Yes, thanks, Jenna. I'll be there in a few minutes. I need a shower." Blake zipped himself up, turned off Zen's holo-suite program, and left the recreation room, smiling calmly when Avon approached him with yet another complaint.


	27. Once Mended

Once mended, twice new. I'm stronger now, strong enough to show my pain.

Tears are healing. 

They flow, warm and living, over your chilled skin. You are frightened of yourself, of what you might do to me. I understand. I was afraid of what I was doing to you and so I left. It was a mistake. 

We need each other to be whole. Our lives are interwoven like the threads in a tapestry, meaningless, useless, one without the other. 

Sleep comes easily, because I trust you to keep me honest. At any cost.

I trust you to kill me.


	28. Blake's 7 and Counting

The gunfire went on far longer than Vila thought even Avon, stubborn, pigheaded bastard that he was, could manage while standing in the center of a circle of troopers. Eventually it stopped, so Vila cautiously opened his eyes enough to peer out through the lashes.

"I'm in hell again, and it's still full of Avons." He sat up and looked around.

An Avon in a green jumpsuit noticed him and came over to Vila. "You're not wounded?"

"I'm not totally gormless, am I? I ducked!" 

An Avon in a black jumpsuit went past carrying Tarrant's feet, while an Avon in a gray jumpsuit had his shoulders. Green Avon said, "Well, then, get up. We're getting out of here." He slung a long-barreled weapon over his shoulder.

"I'm staying right here." Vila cringed back from the green Avon.

"Don't be an idiot. The base is compromised; there'll be more troopers any moment."

Vila put his hands over his head and huddled tightly. "I've gone through a lot with you, Avon. I'm not going to hell with you, too!"

"Vila." This voice was feminine and familiar. "You're not dead. Come along, I'll explain on the way."

Vila uncurled and stared at Cally. Cally was wearing gray, or blue, or... there were several Cally around, too. He hadn't noticed them because there were so many more Avon. "All right, so it isn't hell, it's heaven... but..." Then Vila saw Vila peering around the entrance. Vila gulped and stopped resisting as green Avon and gray Cally grabbed his arms, hauled him to his feet and dragged him out to a waiting star freighter.

They sat Vila down and strapped him in what appeared to be a cargo bay retrofitted as launch chairs. Many of them. Filled mostly with Avons. 

"I promised I would explain," Cally said briskly as the freighter took off, rather showily, Vila felt after he got his stomach back in place again. "We are of Kaarn."

"Oh. Oh! You mean..."

"Yes, Vila. Cally gave Franton cell samples and mind engrams of each of you. The most pressing need was for technicians to get everything up and running, so in addition to some Callys, a few Vilas and Daynas, and a handful of Tarrants, quite a few Avons were force-grown to adulthood."

Green Avon flashed Vila an unnerving grin. "But we didn't care to be used, so once we had made Kaarn self-sufficient, we decided to create our own society."

Cally gave Avon a look. "You mean, all you Avons decided you wanted Blake back."

Avon silently acknowledged her point with a shrug. 

"But he's dead."

"Perhaps not. Callys are working on him and Avon and the rest of your crew. Even if they die, it's not a total loss, we can clone Blake," green Avon said. "And it will be good to have original cellular tissue. Cloning from a clone..." He shook his head. "Too much is lost."

"Well, thanks for saving my life, but you can let me off on the nearest planet. I've had enough of this rebellion lark."

Gray Cally and green Avon exchanged a meaningful glance. "I'm afraid we can't do that, Vila. As I said, we need original cellular tissue. From all of you. It won't be easy taking over the Federation."

"Not even with my assistance." Vila knew that voice, too. He looked up into Servalan and Servalan's eyes.

Avon, Cally, and the two Servalans all smiled at him. Vila shrank from the insanity of their identically fixed expressions. "You're all mad," he whimpered.

Avon's grin grew. "Oh, yes. One of me discovered the technical fault in the replication units too late for Franton to stop us. We tricked Servalan into coming to us for cloning. And now, with Blake, we will be unstoppable." He reached out and patted Vila's cheek. "Don't worry. You are safe with us. You and the others will be kept safe the rest of your lives. Our Vilas have prepared utterly inescapable quarters for you."

Servalan and Cally joined Avon and all the Avons sitting around Vila in laughing manically. Vila whispered, "I'm in hell and it's full of Avons."


	29. Colored Purple

Servalan didn't like wearing Dayna's gown. Not only didn't it suit her, but someone else had worn it before her. It had been years since she'd had to wear clothes that smelled of another person. Oh, they said cadet uniforms were given out new, but she didn't believe it. 

She could tell. It made her skin crawl. She didn't let Dayna see that, of course. She would be back in her pristine whites soon. White and clean and untouchable, no matter how many times she used her body to gain advancement.

She would scrub until she was pure white again.


	30. Forging Steel

He loved her long, feminine hair. She simply loved him, but when she became pregnant he accused her of trying to force him into bonding. She begged for his help. She couldn't ask her father.

Reluctantly he found her a delta clinic. The doctor botched it, sterilizing her. She stole a scalpel and considered her slender white wrists. He had sent her a note before he left to advance his career, wishing her luck.

She raised the scalpel and began calmly, coldly, cutting off her hair. Father would be pleased that she had decided to join the military, after all.


	31. From a Different Point of View

Servalan watched the vidscreen intently, shifting from scenes aboard the Scorpio to the interior of Blake's base. Her agents had surveillance at all key locations, even planting one within Orac.

She took only the most necessary of relief breaks, her fingers stiff and sore by the time the climactic scene came, but it was well worth the discomfort. The look on Blake's face was precious, but Avon's expression was absolutely priceless.

She had so enjoyed playing them, but all good things come to an end. 

She carefully packed away the recordings. This was one day she was determined to save.


	32. Lonely Hearts

"Be there." Vila stuffed the unsigned note into his pocket for reuse. Cautiously he approached the 'B' shack. They'd already abandoned 'A' because Federation patrols came too close.

Avon was cooking. It smelled like offal. Vila wasn't picky, not any more. He entered the shack and stood perfectly still waiting for Avon to put down the gun. Then Vila produced the dusty bottle of wine and white-spotted block of cooking chocolate he'd found in an abandoned farmhouse.

Avon lit a few candle-stubs and tossed wilted marrow flowers into the pot with the offal. "It'll need more time. Heart is tough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following prompts: flowers, anonymous missives, blood pumps, chocolates, wine, candlelit dinners


	33. Nesting

Ro finished with the last of the day's petitioners, and turned to Selma. As usual, she had stood by his throne, regal and expressionless, outwardly merely an observer to his decrees. He looked at her steadily. "You disagree with my handling of the mines."

Selma returned his gaze fearlessly, and he fell in love with her all over again. "It's not my place to disagree or agree with you, Ro."

He sighed and put his hand out to her. "I know. Come with me. I'm tired and hungry, and I want you to rub my feet."

A faint smile played about her lips. "Of course, Ro." She watched as he adjusted his feathered cape and helmet-mask, and then followed at his side, as proud and silent as any of his guards.

They entered their private quarters and were served by tribesmen and women, rustling and clattering softly in bright blue cloth adorned with fringes of beads. Only Ro and Selma could wear the iridescent blue to black feathers of the akku bird, now rare because of the Federation's wanton destruction while seeking monopasium. Ro idly fingered his cape. So many birds to produce one cape. And when the birds were gone, would that mean that his people would have no ruler? It was something to seriously consider. The servers left, and the room was quiet.

Selma sat cross-legged on a mat, eating with her fingers with delicacy and grace. She had never forgot what their people were, never allowed the Federation to convince her that their ways were backwards and wrong. He reached out and took her hand, kissing her fingers. "Do I tell you often enough how wise you are? And how beautiful?"

Selma smiled. "You remember from time to time." She put down her bowl. "Are you sure it's your feet you want rubbed?"

Ro chuckled. "You're probably right about the mines. But we do need the money, to provide for our defense. Eat." He picked up the bowl and handed it back to her. "I don't want the baby to starve."

Selma smiled. "He's only just begun, and doesn't need much." She returned to eating.

"He might be a she. Our people need strong women." He reached out to stroke the line of feathers covering the slightly rounded curve of her belly.

Selma said nothing, but continued eating while Ro watched. When she was done, she pulled his left foot into her lap, took off his sandal and began rubbing it. "I suppose the mines should be worked-the sooner they're empty, the sooner the Federation will lose interest in us. But can we trust Blake?"

"Yes, I think so." Ro sighed and stretched out in the heaped pillows around him. "His wise woman told me things about him. Blake is obsessed about the Federation. He will defeat it, or die in the attempt."

Selma gazed off into the distance. "Yes."

Ro looked at her intently. "Selma, do you know something I don't?"

She smiled. "I know a stubborn man when I see one." She put down Ro's foot. "Shall I do the other one?"

"No, come here."

Selma moved close to Ro and laid beside him, pulling his head to rest on her bosom. She sang a soft, atonal melody while rubbing his forehead, and he fell asleep. She waited a while, then got up and went to a small altar in the corner of the room. She plucked a feather from her dress and burned it in the brazier before the bird-beaked god with obsidian eyes. She said softly, "Protect my man and my child, o great one." Her eyes glittered suddenly, very like the idol's. "Take Blake if you must, but leave me mine."


	34. Night Vision

_Now, Avon._ Still asleep Avon responded to the soft voice in his ear, reaching his hand down to his cock. _That's good, isn't it?_

Avon's head twitched in a faint nod and he continued stroking himself, turning to lie on his back to afford his lover a good view.

_That's my sweetheart._ Avon's breathing quickened slightly as he felt warmth and moisture along his neck. _Show me how beautiful you are. I love to watch you._

Avon moaned and played with his cock. He could feel fingers run softly up his thighs, urging him to spread himself. He obeyed immediately. The fingers went to his balls, holding them out of the way as a warm, wet tongue licked him beneath them as he moaned louder and wanked harder.

He wanted desperately to be fucked, but he knew it would never happen. Never. His lover would do anything else for him, but never that. Instead the voice urged him to display himself, to show how much he wanted to please, to show how little it took to drive him mad. The faintest of touches, so light as to be imaginary, the softest of whispers in that wonderful tawny-gold voice and finally the command.

_Come for me, Avon!_

Avon jerked up, waking and coming at the same moment, inarticulate sobbing sounds coming from his throat; the only voice left him after Servalan's surgeons. He collapsed back on the stained and musty-smelling pallet in his cell and watched Blake's image fade into the walls.

Born with a caul, that was what his great-grandmother had said of him. Destined to see ghosts and to live with death. He closed his eyes again, and tried to go back to sleep, hoping to see Blake again, in the only way left to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using my Pornocopia generated prompts:  
> Masturbating for your partner/ Ghost lover/ Wet dreams/ Caul


	35. Shortly After Getting On Board

Avon aimed the Liberator hand-gun at Blake. "Well, it certainly gives one a feeling of...," he said just the ship lurched, and Avon instinctively tried to clutch at Blake, forgetting that his fingers were wrapped around a firing button.

_Zap!_ Avon stared down at Blake's corpse in shock for several long minutes as alarms went off and emergency lights flashed red, then he smiled maniacally, and moved to stand astride Blake.

Jenna got the ship under control, shook her head so that her hair tossed becomingly, then said, "I _hate_ it when you skip to the end of the 'whodunnit'."


	36. Lucked Out

Servalan bought a lottery ticket for her da every week, giving up the school lunch stipend to pay for it. Better to go hungry than have a bash up the lug 'ole.

Soon he'd start thinking of other ways she could bring in credits. She wasn't about to tell him she'd been on the game for years, socking away the money for bribes. And she certainly wasn't going to support him in his old age.

She barely noticed the viscast announcing the winning numbers, but she couldn't mistake da's shout of rage. "Lost again?" she asked, mainly to watch his face go purple at her impudence. This time of day he was too drunk to catch her.

"Worse luck! Won the upgrade!" He threw the ticket on the floor. "What flippin' good's that? Still... might sell it. Always some fool willin' to push in where they're not wanted." He went on his hands and knees, scrabbling after it. 

She snatched the ticket. He roared and lunged to his feet. Her shiv slid in between his ribs just as smooth as smooth could be. She watched a moment, to be sure he was dead. Then she screamed. The investigating guard was sympathetic, she made sure of that. The neighbors saw nothing, as usual. The next day she turned in the ticket, accepted her new ID, and seduced the doorman of the lowest class alpha hostelry.

She was on her way up and nothing was going to stop her.


	37. Another plan gone to pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minor canon change that could have happened on Chenga.

Servalan strode out of the operating theatre, laughing. A politely professional nurse escorted her to a lounge to wait until they set up a communications link with the Federation.

"There will be a slight delay, owing to com-conflict. All the survivors of the war, calling for rescue, you understand."

Servalan nodded impatiently, and accepted the drink and plate of salty hors' d oeuvres the woman offered. After she drained the glass she overheard the nurse comment to another, "Imagine, saying she's the President of the Federation! Insanity shouldn't affect her organs." 

Servalan glared all the way to the operating theatre.


	38. Revenge for the Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU wherein some of Servalan's forgotten victims are avenged.

Servalan had killed another of their children. Death by fire, horrible. And what was worse, he knew that if she found the little ones he'd hidden, she'd murder them, too.

He was a gentle man, harmless, eccentric, even amusing. At least, those were all the things she'd called him when he'd labored to give her the immortality of their offspring. They had been beautiful, like her, but gentle, like him. They hadn't been able to fight back.

She was looking for him, wanting the last evidence gone. He'd been warned, but he didn't run. She hadn't anyone left to do her dirty work, so she'd have to come to him in person. And why should she fear him? She thought him stupid because he hadn't cared about politics, about her position, about what she did to obtain it. But those were strangers she'd murdered then. He wondered if she'd laughed as she killed their children. Or had she cried?

"It's been a long time, Michel." Her voice was the same, poisoned honey.

He looked up from his work, smiling. "Far too long." He took in the changes in her appearance, and lied, as skillfully as he did many things. "As beautiful as ever." She preened. Such a vain, foolish woman. "Will you have tea with me before we start? You are here for the same reason as always, yes?" 

"I'm afraid I haven't time for tea. Nor shall I ...require your services again."

"Oh, what a pity."

"No, I just came to thank you for all you'd done for me." She moved close, smiling.

He smiled, too, as he clasped her hand, driving the paralysis drug through her skin. Her eyes went wide. A glittering shard of knife fell from her other hand as he caught her and carried her carefully over to the draped divan. "I'm afraid I must insist." He settled the sheer cloth over her staring, furious eyes and smeared cream around the edges to hold it smooth. "Normally, I'd put in breathing tubes," he said as he began applying the moulage to her face, building it up thick, and smooth, and airtight. "But you don't need that for a death mask."

He hummed happily as he worked. This would be his masterpiece.


	39. Scratch a Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vila's always been a survivor.

Once the troopers left to secure the rest of the base. Vila got up. He did a hasty corpse-check, hoping he wasn't alone. The ginger-headed bloke was still breathing. Apparently Arlen had used a stun-shot.

Dayna was dead, despite being shot with the same gun. She'd broken her neck in the fall. Pity. She had such beautiful legs, not that he'd ever been allowed to touch them. Soolin was much the same, except that she'd been shot dead. Another beautiful woman too good for him. 

Tarrant's blue eyes were glazing over- well, no more arrogant bullying there. He didn't want to touch the two entwined bodies at the middle of the room, so he used his boot to push Avon off Blake. Both Alphas were dead, the hot-blooded one who risked Vila's life- he'd never forgot Blake keeping him on Albian past the zero hour- and Avon… ice-cold Avon, getting colder by the minute.

Vila dragged the ginger-haired fellow outside and stole the flier containing Orac. The vibration of the take-off- well, Vila wasn't the pilot Tarrant had been- woke the man. Vila smiled at him. "Hello. Don't worry. You'll be safe with me. I'm not at all like Avon."


	40. Vino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there's nothing better to do than get drunk and talk with a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a list of prompts for a little B7 ficathon this was based on:
> 
> 19\. Cally and Avon talk about personal things after getting drunk on homemade wine on an abandoned mining asteroid.
> 
> Vilakins and Mistraltoes beta-read it for me.

"Zelda liked to smash her peas up against the roof of her mouth and then say something to make me look."

Avon nods and takes the bottle from Cally. He has a good gulp and then hands it back. They're both sitting on the floor with their backs against a dirty wall. "Kyle was a great shot with a spitball."

"What's that?" Cally takes the bottle back and has a swig, without bothering to wipe off the top. About an hour back, they'd stopped worrying about germs.

"Chewed up paper. He could get me on the back of the neck from three rows away in class. It wasn't easy not reacting."

"Why didn't you react?" Cally hands Avon the bottle.

"Because he'd get in trouble. He was my brother."

"Oh." Cally nods wisely. "And you felt family loyalty."

Avon nods. "Also, if I'd turned him in, he'd have put liniment in my underpants. Kyle was wonderful for revenge." Avon lifts the bottle in salute.

"Zelda wasn't. She wouldn't even let me swat a spider that bit her. Her whole arm swelled up and she cried, but she still said to let it live." Cally leans her head against Avon's shoulder. "I don't think we should drink any more."

"Why not?" 

"Because they're not coming back."

Avon nods. "Yes, I agree. It's been too long, but that’s all the more reason to finish the bottle."

"I don't want to lose consciousness ahead of time. It would be...surrendering."

"The air won't last much longer." Avon lifts the bottle again, but puts it back down at a reproachful look from Cally. He thinks a moment. "Do you want to have sex?"

Cally thinks about it a moment. "Not with you. No offense."

Avon shakes his head. "None taken." He puts his arms around Cally. "It's getting cold. I don't think we'll have to worry about the air."

"That's good. Suffocation is ugly."

"Hypothermia is much better," Avon agrees. "How did you want to die?"

"I hadn't quite decided. In battle, taking my enemy down, would have been good, though."

"I'd rather fancied it in bed, at an outrageous age, with a beautiful lover."

"That seems unfair on the lover."

"I've never been very fair."

Cally nods. "Still, this way isn't too bad." Cally leans more heavily against Avon. "I'm glad to have a friend at my side."

Avon closes his eyes. "Yes. This way isn't too bad."


	41. In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gan and Blake both have monsters.

"Don't look!" Gan said in an agonized whisper, clutching at Blake's arm.

Blake subsided, slumping to the floor beneath Gan's bed once more. He whispered, "How will we know when they're gone, then?" 

"I can hear them." Gan shuddered, shaking Blake's arm with the force of it. "The things they say... wicked, cruel things. Things they want me to do." He turned his head towards Blake, which Blake could only tell from the change in his voice. It was darker than the inside of a Monopasium mine. "Crushing, ripping... oh, the blood, Blake," his voice was low and guttural. "Painting obscenities with my hands all red..."

"Avon will have the lights on in a moment," Blake said steadily. "They'll go away then."

"Will they, will they really?" Gan's fingers tightened even more on Blake's arm. He had always known how strong Gan was, but it had been an intellectual awareness, rather than a visceral feeling. Now, with the tendons crushed against the bone, Blake's arm was screaming that Gan wasn't human.

But he was, as human as Blake. Blake's monsters spoke to him constantly, but their voices were sly little whispers, suggestions, ideas from the pits of hell, all justified by the evil the Federation had already done to him and to multitudes more.

"Yes, they will. Monsters can't stand the light."

"That's true," Gan said. His fingers relaxed slightly, and Blake bit his lip to prevent himself crying out as the rush of blood to his arm awakened numbed nerve endings. "Why is that, Blake?" Gan sounded childlike now.

"Because they can see themselves. See how ugly they are. It makes them ashamed."

"Yes. Yes, it does." Light flared, flickered and then held steady. Blake let out a sigh of relief as Gan's fingers opened. "It's all right now, they've gone."

"Yes." Gan followed Blake out from under the bed, and stood, staring at him blankly for a long moment. Then he rubbed the back of his head and grimaced. "What we were doing under my bed, Blake?"

"Hiding from monsters." Blake smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a Birthday Buffet B7 ficathon- a long list of free for all prompts included:
> 
> 87\. Blake and Gan are stranded underneath the bed, hiding from monsters.


	42. At Night's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an afterlife he doesn't believe in, Avon is trapped with Arlen.

"It's not fair! I always did my duty! I deserve better than this!"

Avon laughed. "What has that got to do with anything, Arlen?" Avon 'looked' around him. He didn't actually have light to see with, or eyes to gather information, or a brain to process the information, but he did the equivalent of scanning his environment at a distance. And 'saw' nothing except Arlen. "We're here. Accept it. Or don't, but in either case, be quiet."

Arlen was silent for a while, seconds, minutes, or possibly millennia. There was no way to tell. "Are we going to be here forever?" 

Avon would have shrugged, but having been reduced to a point in a space, he had nothing to shrug. "Probably. According to all the physics I ever learned, matter on the event horizon of a black hole cannot ever escape. Of course, according to all that, we also should have crashed into the singularity almost simultaneously with contact with the event horizon."

Arlen made the equivalent of an angry growl. "You're extremely annoying, Avon. I can see why Blake abandoned the _Liberator_ , just to get shut of you!"

Avon was silent now for an indeterminable length of non-time. Galaxies might have spun while he thought. Or a living heart beat once. It was all the same. "No, I don't think that was it."

"What was it, then?" After a while, Arlen's voice softened. "I can't tell anyone, you know. I'm... after everything I did... I'm nothing and nobody...more nothing than I ever was."

Avon got the impression Arlen was weeping. "Stop that!" He hesitated. "I don't know for certain, but I suspect Blake felt that separating our forces would enable us to work against the Federation more efficiently. He ...trusted me, you see. Unfortunately, things never... my plans never quite succeeded."

"Of course not. You had a traitor among your crew."

Avon snarled, "Who?"

"I don't know. All I knew was the code-name, 'Rat'. I came across it in a report on Blake's activities before the War, when I was tracking him."

" 'Rat'...colloquial term for a traitor. Or..." Avon bared his nonexistent teeth. "A 'rat in a box'. Orac. But why would a computer betray its own... ah. Ensor intended to sell it to the Federation. Orac's loyalty was to the Federation all along. Suddenly it makes sense. Blake never relied utterly on Orac, as I did... he didn't quite trust it. I used to call him a fool for double-checking Orac's information with Zen. I was the fool. I was always the fool." Avon's non-voice was harsh and bitter. "I trusted the machine, and doubted the man. I should have shot Orac instead of Blake."

Arlen was silent for a long time. "Is that why we're here? Because of Blake?"

"How should I know? I thought death was simply an end. I never... I never believed in an afterlife, a heaven or a hell... or whatever this is. It's impossible. I don't believe in it now."

"I do." Arlen's speck of not-quite-nothing moved in a way impossible to describe, closer to Avon. "And I don't like it. I don't want to be here."

"What does it matter what you like? Or what I like, for that matter?"

"It has to matter! There's got to be a reason for all this, or I'll go mad!"

Avon gave another non-shrug. "Go mad, then."

Arlen screamed and threw herself at Avon with all her force. Avon snarled and met her. Two specks of violently opposed non-matter collided in the heart of the singularity. The singularity built matter up about the irritant, like a pearl, growing until it could no longer contain it. The black hole inverted and spewed itself into the vastness of nothing that comes at the end of time.

And there was light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: 20. Avon and Arlen are stranded in a black hole.


	43. Blood Feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All mutoids need blood. This one is just particular about whose.

"There aren't any mutoid pilots in stock that match the Commissioner's requirements, sir," the officer in charge of troop assignments said to her superior, after checking the roster twice.

"Well, then you'll just have to omit one requirement. Which has the Commissioner put as the lowest priority?"

The officer scanned the requisition. "Gender, sir." He changed the search parameters and looked at the results. "There's a female pilot that matches. Superior in markmanship, intelligence, tactical knowledge, and negotiations." She opened the file. "Commendations for efficiency from Space Commander Travis during the Project Avalon affair."

Her superior looked at the holo of the mutoid. "Physically attractive, too. Good. Assign this one to Commissioner Sleer."

\--

 

Sleer walked past her new mutoid without bothering to look at it. She was still slightly annoyed that a suitable male hadn't been available. Perhaps she had been hasty ordering Avon's execution on Gauda Prime. 'Killing' the android Blake had driven him insane, but the mutoid process would have blanked him, rendering him usable. Still, it wouldn't have been the same. 

"Set a course for Earth!" 

"Yes, Commissioner," the mutoid replied blandly.

A few hours later, Sleer returned to the flight deck. There was a smell... she looked down and saw in horror that she'd stepped into a pool of green. She gasped and whirled to look at her mutoid crew. Three of them slumped in their seats, faces no blanker than usual despite the neat holes in their foreheads and the green spatters on their uniforms. 

Sleer whirled again at a cool voice and stared at the fourth mutoid; the new one, who she now realized was tantalizingly familiar. "They were already dead," the mutoid said. "Like my sister. I just put their bodies to rest."

"Your sister?" Sleer said as a distraction as she tried to back away. Did mutoids ever go insane?

"Her name was Bobbijo," the mutoid said, raising her gun, indicating that she didn't wish Sleer to move. "We were identical twins. When we were... separated, I thought she was dead. When Orac found her for me... well, I wished she was dead. And now she is."

"You're one of Avon's crew... Soolin, the marksman? But they're all dead."

"Not quite. One of your men liked blondes. He thought he'd play for a while, and kill me later. He thought wrong." Cool blue eyes stared at Sleer. 

"How? How could you...?"

"Does it matter? I'd learned what I needed from my friends. I found my sister and put her to sleep so I could take her place. I fixed the records so I would be assigned to you. And here I am." The gun raised again.

"No! Don't! I can make you rich! Or power, I can give you power! I can give you anything you wish!"

"Can you? Can you bring back my lover; can you bring back my friends? Can you make me as I was?" Soolin swept off her helmet, revealing her shaven skull. "Can you bring back my sister and family? Can you give me back my childhood?"

Sleer shrank against the bulkhead. "How can you blame me for all that?"

"Why not? You're here." Soolin shot Sleer between the eyes. She smiled as the corpse slid to the deck in a heap of black feathers. "I told you I'd do it, Dayna. Sleep in peace, my love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: 8. Soolin takes the place of her mutoid sister after GP in order to get revenge on Servalan.


End file.
